


Denial Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

by deklava



Series: Dark!Lestrade and Slut!Sherlock [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Chastity Device, Dark!Lestrade, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, slut!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 15:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As punishment for wanking on Sally's keyboard, Dark!Lestrade puts a chastity device on Sherlock for a week. He also refrains from sex himself, as denial can be a perfect incentive for harsh discipline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/gifts).



> **Beta:** chasingriver

As Lestrade ascended the steps to Sherlock’s flat, he swore that he could smell the man’s desperate arousal. Or perhaps, he admitted as he adjusted his trousers, the urgent scent invading his nostrils was emanating from his own body.

Neither he nor Sherlock had had sex or even masturbated for exactly one week. Sherlock was being punished for secretly (or so he thought) wanking over Sally’s keyboard, and Lestrade had purposely denied himself so that when the dry spell was broken, he could complete Sherlock’s discipline with the perfect mix of lust and aggression.

It would be rough. It would _hurt._ A lot.

Sherlock would love it.

So would he.

John was at a medical conference in Ireland and Mrs. Hudson had gone away for the weekend, so once again there would be no witnesses to their dark dance. Lestrade would take the belligerent consulting detective apart using his hands, his cock, and anything else that could double as a tool of discipline and sexual pleasure, and Sherlock would beg for more in the same breath that he pleaded for mercy.

Perhaps, he smirked as he opened the flat’s door, he would confiscate Sherlock’s beloved phone and set up an auto-responder to all incoming texts:

_Sherlock Holmes is currently unavailable. He’ll be his Master’s fuck toy for the rest of the day._

Sherlock was crouched on his chair, legs drawn up and chin resting on his knees. When Lestrade came in he immediately stood. His face was flushed and sweat plastered his fringe to his brow.

“You’re ten minutes late. You said you’d-”

“Are you complaining?” The DI approached until their faces were barely an inch apart. “I sincerely hope not, because if you are, that cage around your cock will stay on for another week.”

Sherlock paled and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Now sit.”

When Sherlock obeyed, Lestrade took the other chair. His stiff cock throbbed in his jeans and he massaged it, grinning nastily at the other man all the while. Sherlock had no such outlet for his frustration.

“So tell me, Sherlock. You’ve had a chastity device on for seven days. Tell me how you’re feeling. In detail.”

The detective squirmed. “It was bearable for awhile, but now it’s so uncomfortable I can’t walk without feeling pressure in my cock and balls.” He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his curls, which were unrulier than usual. He must have been pulling at them a lot this week, Lestrade thought.

“Go on,” the DI ordered in the same voice he used on detainees. “What else?”

“Right now I’m feeling warm. Feverish.” Sherlock lowered his hands to his linen shirt and tugged at it. “I just want to take off my clothes. But… but….” He seemed to have trouble concentrating. “You said in your text that I couldn’t until you got here.”

“I’m here now.” Lestrade sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Do it. Start with your shirt.”

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of his chair. Lestrade swore that he could feel heat emanating from that pale, wiry body. Sherlock’s nipples were rock hard, and he whimpered when his fingers accidentally brushed one.

Lestrade grinned and rubbed his cock again. Pre-come was moistening his boxers in a slow but continual trickle. “Stand up and take off the rest of your clothes.”

Sherlock nodded jerkily and removed his black trousers. He wore grey boxer briefs that normally bulged during encounters like these. But hard, locked plastic made such a display impossible to achieve.

As the younger man lowered his briefs, Lestrade said, “Did you lube yourself like I ordered?”

“Yes.” Sherlock gestured toward a small bottle on table beside his chair.

“Show me.”

Sherlock turned around, but not before the DI caught a glimpse of the clear plastic chastity device that held his manhood prisoner. It had an opening at the end to permit urination, but masturbation was impossible. To safeguard against tampering, Lestrade had even used a lightweight combination lock instead of the padlock that originally came with it.

Sherlock bent over and used his hands to spread himself open. Clear lube shone around his lightly stretched hole. Lestrade rose from his chair and ordered, “Grab your ankles.”

Sherlock obeyed, his legs shaking lightly. The DI forced his arse open again and slid two fingers into his moist channel. The detective gasped loudly and clenched down on the probing digits in a reflexive manner.

“You used a lot, I see. Is it because I have such a big cock or did you anticipate that I plan to fuck you harder than you’ve ever had it?”

“Both,” Sherlock whispered.

“Well,” Lestrade said as he pulled his fingers out, stood, and undid his trousers, “since you’re ready, I see no reason to delay things.”

“Thank God,” the detective breathed. His voice rose in pitch to a squeal when a strong hand seized him by the hair and slammed him to the floor hard enough to bruise his knees.

“Open your mouth,” Lestrade ordered. Sherlock barely had time to part his lips before eight sold inches of wet, veined shaft plunged down his throat. Sexual frustration had kindled a powerful rage in the DI, who wanted to choke and slap and plunder. “Now suck me, you little slut, and I’d better not feel teeth.”

Sherlock moaned around the mouthful. He raised his hands to Lestrade’s hips when the depth and speed became more aggressive, but Lestrade smacked them away.

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped. “This is what you were made for: choking on my cock. I waited a solid week to make this good for both of us. I hope you’re ready.”

Sherlock clearly was. Once he collected his wits, his eyes gleamed with excitement and he sucked loudly and enthusiastically. He fondled Lestrade’s tightening balls with one hand and pinched his own nipples with the other. Lestrade allowed the self-gratification, knowing that it would only increase the torture. Sherlock Holmes, the bitch of Baker Street, would get off only when _he_ said so _._

“You’re such a good little cock slut, aren’t you? See, you can use that mouth of yours to make people happy instead of piss them off.” His voice darkened. “You just needed a firm hand to make you see things from the right perspective. Which, for you, is on your knees.”

When Sherlock’s tongue bathed the sensitive underside of his cock, Lestrade felt the first contractions of orgasm. Not wanting to come so soon, he pulled out of that eager mouth, grabbed the detective by the hair again, and hauled him upright. “I want your nice wet arse now,” he growled before turning Sherlock around and shoving him onto his chair. The detective was forced to kneel on the seat and grasp the chair’s back as his buttocks pressed against Lestrade’s crotch.

“Bloody fucking hell.” Lestrade’s fingers quivered as he hauled a condom out of his shirt pocket, ripped the packaging off, and rolled it on. “This greedy hole has been waiting a week for my cock. Time to bring the wait to an end.”

He grabbed Sherlock’s hips and slid into the other man’s body in one single, smooth thrust. Sherlock wailed in surprise at the sudden –and slightly painful- intrusion. But he didn’t call his safeword, and Lestrade wasn’t in the mood for a seduction.

“Shut the fuck up. Or I’ll fucking gag you with that cactus over there. All I want to hear you do is moan, got it?”

Sherlock nodded rapidly and lowered his head, grunting and whimpering as his arse was repeatedly ploughed. He reached for his cock, and his look of despair when the plastic barrier interfered made Lestrade laugh out loud.

“That’ll come off later. If you’ve earned it.” The DI closed his eyes in deep pleasure as his long-neglected cock was gripped and massaged by Sherlock’s hot depths. “This is amazing. Fuck. I’m going to fuck you until I come, and after a bit of a rest, I’ll fuck you again. You’ll be so sore, you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

“Yes!” Sherlock’s fingers gripped the chair back and his teeth crushed his lower lip. “Please, yes!!”

Lestrade’s strokes, initially rough and forceful, gradually slowed. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He held Sherlock’s hips in place, slid back until only the tip remained in that tight heat, and paused. When Sherlock squirmed and protested softly, the DI grinned from ear to ear and plunged back in, sending frothy lube spilling out of the younger man’s arse.

“Tell me how it feels,” he ordered, running one hand possessively over that smooth back and thinking, _Mine_.

Sherlock licked his lips. “I feel… guh… so dirty and hot and ashamed and I want more.” His breath came out in gasps, but he kept talking. “I love it…. Oh, fuck.”

“What do you love?” Lestrade slid his hand around Sherlock’s ribcage. Finding one erect nipple, he rolled it between his coarse fingertips and pinched it. The detective shuddered all over and arched his back.

“I love it when your cock goes so deep that my stomach muscles ache and my hole is stretched so much that it hurts. I… I love it when you don’t go deep enough and make me fuck myself on you.”

“Yeah. I love all that too!” Lestrade pulled his lips back from his teeth. He bent down and ran his tongue over Sherlock’s sweaty shoulder before biting it. He loved to bite, and his oncoming orgasm made his jaws dig in harder than usual, but Sherlock did not complain. Lestrade lapped eagerly at the red indentations as the tightening coil in his belly finally let go and sent a burst of energy through his cock and balls.

Each wad he shot into that perfect body felt like an electric shock, making him shake all over and cling to Sherlock’s waist for support. He swore and pounded his forehead repeatedly between Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“Milk me, you bitch… oh, God, oh FUCK.”

Sherlock was crying out too, but his mouth was pressed against his forearm, garbling the noise.

When the aftershocks had passed and his heart rate had returned to normal, Lestrade pulled Sherlock away from the chair, careful not to slip out of his body. He sat and positioned the younger man on his lap, facing away. Peering around Sherlock’s ribcage so he could see what he was doing, he released the combination lock and freed that flushed, dripping cock from its temporary prison. Wrapping his warm and sweaty fingers around it, Lestrade began stroking his partner off.

“Come for me now!” he urged, kissing one sweat-slick bicep. “Such a good boy. Let’s see you get off at last.”

Sherlock threw his head back as his cock stiffened and swelled for the first time in over a week. “Oh… oh God!! Pleasepleaseplease… more….” Gripping Lestrade’s thighs for balance, he bounced himself on the shaft still buried inside him, eyes rolling each time the fat tip stroked his prostate. “I’m almost there… oh God… oh….YES....”

A split second later, he bent so far backwards that his hair grazed Lestrade’s back, and a veritable geyser of hot sperm spilled over the policeman’s slowing fist. He continued to sob and make kicking motions as energy not released by the orgasm worked its way out. Finally he slumped, lids fluttering contentedly as Lestrade murmured soothing assurances and caressed his flank.

“Easy, easy… you’re all right.”

Sherlock shook his head, sending droplets of sweat everywhere. “Oh my God,” he breathed.

“Will you wank on Sally’s keyboard ever again?”

“No.” Then Sherlock wriggled slyly against the softening cock in his arse and added, “Not her keyboard anyway.”


End file.
